


Soleil

by bluegrass



Series: Completed Works [5]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst and Feels, Are You Looking for Something Short and Different and Painful, Basically a react fic, Everyone Loves Tsuna, Fluff, Gen, I am Here to Deliver, I made this so gay you would not even believe, If You Squint - Freeform, Observant Ryohei, POV Third Person, Protective Vongola Guardians, Song fic, TYL Arc, TYL Vongola Tenth Generation, To Tsuna's Death (tm), Two Shot, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-09-21 08:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17040380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegrass/pseuds/bluegrass
Summary: Little do people know that as the Sun, Ryohei knows a lot more than people think he does. Tsuna expresses his trust in words and memories, and that is how he knows that the Sky's death will bring nothing but trouble and misery once the others find out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the Vocaloid Song: Soleil (Kagamine Rin and Len)  
> Check out the song with English subtitles if you have the time. The official song fic format starts on the second chapter. This is like the backstory on Ryohei's part.

Sweat dribbles down from his forehead, traveling south as they drop off his chin. Ryohei has his fists clenched into a fighting stance and he punches as though the sand-filled bag before him is the one that brings extreme sorrow into his heart.

The lights of his gym doesn’t flicker the way the Flames in his eyes do. If they did, however, Ryohei thinks that it will make his current state of mind even more dramatic to the extreme. It is another kind of tension he isn’t ready to handle. Not now.

He punches once, letting the bright red bag swing forward. When it returns, he gives it a kick, rotating his body and allowing momentum to steer the power behind it. Just the way Lussuria taught him. Seeing the bag dent with a loud echo eases the tight coils in his shoulders, if only a little.

He is extremely upset and frustrated to the extreme. Tsuna doesn’t have to do what he’s going to. There must be a way around Death. Ryohei will not believe otherwise; his extreme little brother is worth more than letting petty mistakes dictate their lives.

People normally excuse him because he lives his life to the extreme. They don’t take the loud, boisterous one seriously and sometimes, it makes the Sun wants to yell louder than he already does on a daily basis to have them see.

 _See_ _and understand_ that he is more than what they simply assume he is as a person. Ryohei remembers longing for people to understand that his volume doesn’t equate to immaturity. That his passion burns brightly but the flames do not run on rotten wood.

At some point of time, Ryohei found solace in Kyoya’s understanding. The prefect expresses his acknowledgement of him with a harsh attitude and Ryohei doesn’t mind- seeing it as an extreme form of friendship in a way- because in the end, Kyoya is one of the rare people that doesn’t just brush off whatever he says if it went over a certain decibel.

The prefect listens and it is everything Ryohei can ever ask for.

Take it as well he may have, Ryohei has thought that it will also do much good to have reinforcement that felt a little more… _extremely_ positive.

Tsuna’s the one who gives him that, so Ryohei will always be grateful- because his little brother is Kyoya ( _everything_ ) and **more**. The Sky understands Ryohei’s Sun in a way that no one has ever bothered to before. Not even his extreme little sister.

With the way Tsuna casually, fondly, smiles when he shouts at the top of his lungs to match his enthusiasm. Contrary to popular belief, Ryohei knows how he is irritating to some, and outright deafening to others. His Sky however, _understands_ despite his own opinion on an inside voice; Ryohei loves the little consideration and acceptance to his personality. He loves it to the EXTREME.

It is only one of the many extremely good reasons why Ryohei wants to stop Tsuna from jumping off the proverbial cliff without telling anyone save for him and the spy. Their Sky deserves more than having to clean up after his and their mistakes with a dustpan and a finely-toothed brush.

Besides, Ryohei somehow just knows that the plan will become extremely unextreme is because of the soul-bound tattoo of being a Sun branded into his very Will.

As the Healer and guiding light, people tend to forget that the Sun is an overseer and a vital constant in the Sky.

Unlike the raging Storm who passes borders, eradicating all that stands in its way, they are always present. Lasting longer than even lengthy Rains, they exist brightly with waves of heat stronger than the quick flashes of Lightning.

They accompany the Cloud as it drifts, and will always maintains a steady stream of warmth if the Mist is ever blown away by the wayward wind.

Perhaps the knowledge is there, within any kind of circle however subconscious. Ryohei thinks It is very extreme how the influence snakes so deep that people get it and don’t all at once.

(Allowed near the necks of their Elements, it is the Sun that is trusted to heal rather than kill, aren’t they?)

He’s worked most of his life for it, but Ryohei has become the Sun that looks over from even beyond the Sky. The plan will not work because Tsuna has trusted him enough to express his trust in the form of memories and words.

Ryohei is aware of everyone’s stories and therefore their reactions to it in the aftermath. They’ve always said it is _him_ to get the bigger, more important picture, after all.

Tsuna’s a proper Sky, so he treats Ryohei like a Sun first and big brother second; both the positions scuttle extremely close in proximity with each other, but Ryohei has become a confidant of sorts, indulged in with the Sky’s heart that Hayato will never get until he discards the notion of a Boss that can do very little wrongs.

Tsuna’s full of mistakes, Ryohei comes to understand over the ten years they’ve been a family together. He’s the one who soothes the crying boy with soft flames and an even softer voice, after all.

The boxer lands another kick on the sand bag, surprisingly fond of them despite his love using his fists; it explodes satisfyingly without any Flames to aggravate the blow.

Ryohei is panting by the end of his little stress relief session. He wipes off the sheen of sweat from the neck above with a white towel hanging from a wooden chair by the side. The boxer takes a seat with a large sigh. Then, he is chugging mouthfuls of water with the urgency of a thrice damned fish turned humanoid.

There is still an instinctive knowing in Ryohei’s heart. The swell of worry burning through his values like acid. He is loud, but the man does not go around shouting secrets that aren’t his to tell.

_They will take It extremely badly, little brother._

For some reason, one of Kyoko’s favourite lullabies come to mind. It has Ryohei nodding off through the exhaustion when the girl’s humming reaches his ears through several doors in their homes.

It’s probably a recording on the shelf in the corridor, but Ryohei is too busy dreaming of a dim future to check out why it’s there in the first place. ‘ _A God of Death with sorrowful eyes speaks,_ ’ goes the first line.

_‘Are you the one who will save me?’_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took _forever_ I'm sobbing.  
> Brackets with long text represent someone else's POV. I'm sorry if it turned out kinda confusing? I don't even know man.  
> Either way, happy reading!

It is a bright and sunny day when Tsuna ‘dies’. Ryohei cannot bring himself to put on the mask of faux cheer while he stands before a casket that is half closed. Disgust wells up from within him and although it is against his nature, Ryohei cannot help but hate Tsuna just a little bit.

Ryohei takes a brief glance at Reborn; the hitman’s eyes are as dark as usual, but a solemn tint in them makes all the difference. The boxer averts his sympathetic gaze immediately, knowing it wouldn’t be appreciated.

On his part, Ryohei is trying his extreme best to accept that the agonising tears throughout the Bonds that make up the Vongola Tenth Generation are from the people he calls his _family_. It isn’t easy. Everything feels very unextreme and Ryohei thinks his Sun Flames are crying.

Because this is it. This will be how every day will feel like and perhaps Ryohei’s motto to live life to the extreme wanes a bit, but it isn’t to anyone’s knowledge save his own.

Throughout their time together, Tsuna has told him in sequence- with wild hand gestures and genuine fondness, the stories of his once new Family. The start of the most terrifying chapter of the book. Yet, one Tsuna says he cannot regret starting. Ever.

 _They_ **are** _taking it extremely badly, little brother._

With a purse of his lips, the lullaby starts to sing sweetly inside his head again, sounding like the voice belonging to the ghost of his extreme little brother. It lasts far longer than just one verse this time; notes floating and bouncing off the walls of his skull. 

He sighs, keeping the self-inflicted jeer to himself. Day one without his Sky to ground him and the Sun is already starting to self-destruct; fated to simply fade out like another insignificant star in space if it cannot keep its place in a Sky on Earth.

Ryohei doesn’t say anything when the image makes him feel a degree colder.

* * *

_A God of Death with sorrowful eyes speaks,_

_“Are you the one who will save me?”_

* * *

 Reborn is the start of it all when he comes into the Sawada household with nothing but Leon, the orange-banded fedora, and himself alongside an unextreme brochure promising a future that even the Greatest couldn’t have predicted.

When Tsuna tells him about the food stealing and coffee addiction, Ryohei cannot help but think that his Sky and the hitman have come so far; from tutor and student to father and son, should he compare it.

For despite remaining just as extreme with his little brother, Reborn mothers the young Vongola head far more vigorously than his own mother. He’s witnessed it more than once, when the hitman distracts the breaking tenth Vongola head with a few words, taking his attention off the burden of paperwork. 

The man is now dangerously silent, pulling the fedora down to cover half his face. Reborn’s half smirk has disappeared entirely as the Arcobaleno take to moving five inches backwards with the storm of dying Sun Flames swirling around the hitman.

 _(-drained constantly_ by the Curse; Reborn cannot understand why betrayal sits so comfortably in his life. Yet _another_ Sky he has become attached to arguably willingly, and they die; faster than his Flames could patch up the Bond that was only there for one, faster than the Japanese crickets during summer.)

Ryohei can tell that like himself, the hitman had taken refuge underneath the Sky who clenches his fists as if in prayer for their happiness, because isn’t that what this farce revolves around?

(Through the looking glass of his mind, The World’s Greatest Hitman feels **regret** he doesn’t think he can simply erase a second time. The nickname of Dame-Tsuna suddenly feels like a parasite in his heart. Where did he go wrong?)

The tiny infant body hops onto Takeshi’s shoulder. He balances himself with an easy grace and pull at the back hairs of the swordsman’s head. Ryohei can only guess what the gesture means.

* * *

_You feel pain and darkness you never wished for,_

_Even this appearance is hideous._

* * *

Xanxus’s arrival to the funeral is surprisingly quiet. His Elements walk behind him with straight backs and even sterner faces.

On the left is Belphegor with his hair getting longer each visit, hands in his uniform pockets and grin wiped from his face. Whereupon on the right is Squalo, expression set into a pinched frown as usual with a set of sheathed swords by his sides.

Takeshi actually perks up a bit upon seeing the other Rain, but deflates immediately when the empty gap in his chest feels like _too much_. Ryohei sympathises, his own Bond growing colder.

Lussuria- as extreme and dear even after 10 years- is wearing the dullest colours Ryohei has ever seen him wear before. All black, even foregoing the trademark scarf.

A part of the boxer wants to ask for a match just to bring some of the life back into the fellow Sun, but he refrains; just because everything is still raw and it _hurts_ just to see more people filling in to stand by the space before the casket.

Then there is Levi-a-than who looks more worried than ever for his own Boss; seen by the way the Lightning’s eyes never leave Xanxus’s person.

Fran is not wearing the extreme hats Ryohei is used to. Soon, he watches while the youngest Mist leaves the Varia head easily enough. Soundlessly inserting himself by the pineapple head’s side.

(Inside, Xanxus is filled with WRATH. Who does the fucking trash think he is? The shit cannot just leave Vongola, the one Xanxus has fought tooth and nail over only to be denied a rightful seat.

If Xanxus cannot make it strong, he only has the tiny boss to do it so how could he have just died off like the trash he is?!

What about the promises he’s been promised? Where have they gone?

The ones made on the night of whatever shitty celebration he’s had to attend yet another party to. Where it was just before midnight and Xanxus was drunk out of his fucking mind after having to keep up useless pretences with Famiglias that had fucking trash rods stuck up their pretentious asses.

Tsuna had been much soberer than Xanxus felt, having a surprising tolerance when it came to alcohol. Smiling, Xanxus remembers the teenager placing his head into his lap on the couch when they got back to Xanxus’s office at the Varia headquarters.

“I’m sorry, Xanxus, but the dinners are meant to keep our alliances. Although I’m sure you already knew that.” Tsuna had said sheepishly, slowly detaching the beads and feathers entwined into his hair.

Taking out new ones (his own ones), coloured with shades of reds and charcoal grey, Tsuna started braiding them in.

Xanxus remembers the feeling of Tsuna’s nails scraping his skull occasionally. He recalls purring like some overgrown cat, making the younger male smile as he squints through blurry crimson eyes.

“I promise to _make_ and _keep_ the Vongola strong if you attend the Christmas party next week.” The auburn eyed teen suddenly said, out of the blue just as Xanxus was about to become dead to the world for the next 12 hours.

The both of them blinked in unison, one blearier than the other. “Fuck off, trash. I’m not going.” Xanxus growled.

Tsuna then traced the scars on his arm, the light touches slowly trailed down as he took Xanxus’s hand. “What the fuck are you doing, trash.” He heard himself say, only to feel the warmth of soft (chapped) lips on his knuckles.

“I promise to never lie to you.” _Not like Nono did_ , went unsaid. “And I promise you that if you listen to what I say and go to the Christmas party next week, I’ll keep the Vongola strong for you. Sky’s honour.”

There is no one now to tell Xanxus to go to those trash parties. No one left to keep the promise of making and keeping the Vongola strong. No one to casually braid his hair with new feathers and beads, or kiss his knuckles or trace his scars like they were beautiful.

The promise has been broken and even though Xanxus doesn’t weep, he mourns.)

* * *

_The_ _[boy] shines like the sun; [he] stands still_

_And holds out [his] hand, smiling as [he] speaks._

* * *

The protector in Ryohei is thrashing like a wild animal during its last moments of capture. He feels helplessness and distress for being unable to do his job. The one he’s sworn to fulfil to the extreme ever since the incident where he failed his sister.

Xanxus may not be the Sky in which he shines upon, but the weight of his Duty sits heavily anyway. Ryohei shrugs it off weakly, reason has never really been a strength of his.

He spots Hayato in the corner of his eyes. The boxer carefully clenching his fists as his nails unconsciously pierces through the soft flesh of his palms. The silver-haired man is on his knees, fingers tight clutching the wooden edge of the coffin; his shoulders are trembling.

Ryohei can feel the rack of sobs the Storm is trying to suppress like it’s his own. The warble from Hayato’s throat suddenly sounds like he’s choking from where Ryohei stands. Every tremor reflects on the Sun like a mirror, he feels as though an earthquake breaks out from within his body.

He is failing, failing, falling.

 **Failed**. **Fallen**.

A dimming Sun with round edges filed with cracks. The failing (failed) protector. What use are his fist if they cannot fight the demons that live inside?

(Tsuna had given Hayato a home. Offered the bastard child a Family willingly, freely.)

The Sky can be taken so (just as) easily, Ryohei smiles sadly to himself. He starts to walk towards where Hayato is, Flames warm and understanding. The closest he can come to imitating the sky.

He likes to think Hayato appreciates the gesture because “Turf-top.” The Storm says, voice trembling. “Turf-top.” He repeats, like he can’t say anything else. The Healer gives the Storm a smile that doesn’t hide the sadness in his eyes as he kneels beside Hayato; Ryohei then wipes the tears and snot of the octopus-head’s face.

(Hayato cannot imagine a home that is as warm as the one he had when it was completed. Where life plays like a particularly grand symphony and Tsuna is the one conducting it. Hayato is there too, playing his piece by the piano.

In the audience, his mother is weeping, but she is also smiling and Hayato doesn’t know how to proceed with that sight. He continues to play, but the tune is a little scrambled and he prays she doesn’t notice.

There is laughter to distract Hayato’s nervousness, they come from nearby. Big boys don’t cry, he hastily reminds himself, a playful line his mother used to say and the music smooths slightly. Tsuna’s fingers have no hesitation when they flick and sweep through the air. They carry the conviction that had saved his life for the first time. Hayato’s Will strengthens and he knows he must keep up.

He scans his eyes throughout the velvet seats; Yamamoto is at front, first row, alongside his sword that leans against his arm as he half cradles it like a young babe. The man smiles in that disgustingly endearing way he always does, the scar on his chin crinkling in response.

The Storm despised the man once, but the Rain shares the same dedication to Tsuna and Hayato thinks he is easy in that sense because there will be no one he can trust more than the young swordsman who plasters smiles like he wears his rough, prickly persona. Their time together is precious even if they interact like gas and fire; Hayato breathes as a surge of calmness washes over him.

The pineapple twins are close by, only several rows away, but not so far Hayato will think they hate him. Their opinion should not matter, considering he’s almost died by Mukuro’s hands once. But they did, and Hayato cannot explain why. Their expressions are eerily alike as they watch his fingers dance over the black and white keys. The male Mist’s eyes go into a daze, seemingly kind for a lack of better word. Hayato himself cannot tell what the actions signifies.

Next to the Rains sits Lambo; the teenager had grown, shooting up like a bean sprout as he slowly loses the hairstyle Hayato was once convinced held another dimension. The Lightning looks distracted, but a luminescent crackle behind Lambo’s eyes in his mother’s direction tells Hayato everything he needs to know.

Then there’s Hibari, watching over from the last row- furthest from where the performance plays but the most focused out of all of them. Hibird perches on the Cloud’s right shoulder as the Kimono he wears wrinkles from its little feet. Hibari stares, and it’s a difficult battle to not yell from the sheer intensity of it. Hayato has no doubt Hibari knows that the symphony he plays is from his heart.

Everything is so perfect in his head it feels like a never ending dream until Ryohei’s overwhelming grief from the seat in front of Hibari snaps something inside of Hayato. The Sun is still smiling when the Tsuna conducting Hayato’s masterpiece suddenly falls over and vanishes into thin air.

Hayato is back to reality, sight unclear from the tears that fill his eyes, but he recognises the bleached white hair and rectangle bandage that stands out among the tanned skin. He’s already shed so many and they don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. It’s like a slap to his face when he realises he’s been clinging to Ryohei like he does with Tsuna on some bad days; yet at the same time, it’s not that surprising, not really.

Bruised, blistered knuckles brush his cheek gently, sweeping away the evidence of his grief. Vaguely, he registers himself saying something into the Sun’s neck whose scent smelled as calming and grounding as his mother’s was. “Hayato.” The lawn-head says with a gentle timbre in his voice, the Storm only sobs harder.

He’d wanted to watch the fireworks with everyone again this year.) 

* * *

  _“It’s all right, I shall take your darkness_

_And change your form into a bird.”_

* * *

Subtly, for he’s been practicing for over 5 years now, Ryohei puts Hayato to sleep when it looks as if the Storm is half a minute away from a panic attack whilst drowning in hysterical tears.

He sees Yamamoto snap out of thought from where Ryohei is kneeling with half of Hayato slumped over his body. Everyone knows that the Rain keeps half an eye on the Storm at all times and the other half on their Sky, so Ryohei doesn’t resist when his kouhai puts Hayato’s limp arm over his shoulder and heaves him up like he doesn’t weigh heavier than his baseball bat.

“Sorry, senpai, calming is supposed to be my part of the game. I’ll take him to the back yeah?” Takeshi smiles and Ryohei can see it’s a broken attempt. The Rain’s rich brown eyes are as dead as the seafood his father prepares and Ryohei is suddenly struck with the realisation that people _forget_ that everyone- including him, because Fate works funnily like that- living in Tsuna’s Sky are not normal. They’re all battered, bruised and suffering from several forms of trauma one way or another whether they liked it or not.

Yamamoto tried to end his life once, it’s an open secret to everyone who studied in Namimori Middle School. Things were never the same after that, Ryohei had noticed. But even the awkward hellos and byes _faded_ with time.

Ryohei understands in a way only a Sun can as he looks upon them and tries to _heal_ his family of broken parts on every other day. He hasn’t forgotten, he won’t. Can’t.

It’s that firm conviction that makes Ryohei out-smile the Rain to say “No, Takeshi, I’ll take him.” It makes the older boy grin widely (relief floods into Takeshi’s eyes; he needs time now, to himself and from everything else. More than just days- years maybe as Tsuna was **_his world_** \- to mourn. The emotional support pillar he is supposed to be is _cracking_ and _chipping_ _off_ by the flakes of its chalky paint every second.) when he sees the swordsman back down with both his arms raised.

“Is there anything I can do to help, though?” Takeshi asks so Ryohei asks for some tea in the kitchens which were far away from where they currently stood. The request has Takeshi touching the hilt of his sword briefly as he passes Ryohei with a cracking “Thanks.” On his trembling lips.

Takeshi isn’t capable of being calm right now exactly, Ryohei walks towards the Vongola headquarters with a sleeping Storm on his shoulders as he glances briefly at the expressionless Kyouya who follows him stealthily from behind. Looking up, the sky is still bright and dry and sunny. It’s as if Tsuna himself is cheering on Ryohei from the false Other Side.

(Takeshi finds himself on a tall hill shrouded by taller trees. It isn’t exactly mountain height, not like the funny place with dancing bears Reborn once brought them to but it does its job in giving Takeshi some sense of isolation. Some place to just… be.

There, he crouches down into a squat and clenches at the hilt of his sword, wrapped full of blue like his Rain flames. The man sighs, the exhale coarse. Tsuna is gone and Takeshi doesn’t know- he does, actually, but let him lie to himself for a while longer- what to make of it. Game over, maybe?

Ah-

“Enjoy your life today. Yesterday is gone, and tomorrow might never come.”

Takeshi wasn’t lying when he said those words, but it was hard to accept the death of his Sky when it came to it. He’s always believed that it would be for his death when he said those words, after all.

* * *

_“You can fly free; go anywhere you wish in this Sky._

_And if you have no destination in mind, you can come with me.”_

* * *

Kyouya is an extremely unique case.

The problem child, Tsuna would endearingly tell Ryohei behind the Cloud’s back with playful giggles. Kyouya is aware of it, of course, but lets it slide all the same. They are the words of a drunken small animal. He’ll bite the Sky to death afterwards.

(He doesn’t. Not by his own fangs.)

The two of them settle down in the infirmary after Ryohei lays Hayato’s on the plush pillow. Kyouya is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, they stare at each other when the Cloud grunts.

“The little animal is playing with fire beyond his control.” He says with utmost deadpan and it brings surprise to Ryohei to hear them.

“So you know? He told you then?”

The raven haired man nods, expression gruff. Hibird chitters on with mournful chirps, nested on his head, clawed feet digging into his scalp.

(Kyouya’s body only jerked marginally as Tsuna barged into his personal quarters with a new clay teapot filled with crispy tea leaves. The gift was well made and well thought out in its design, with a clean snout that wouldn’t let the tea dribble down messily. Dyed in mild forest green, the shape of the piece of art that came in the word 【心】did not escape his notice.

“Kyouya~!” Tsuna chirped, fear non-existent in his bright eyes. They’ve been so for years now.

The ex-prefect grunted, it was the best greeting Tsuna was going to get and they both know it. But Kyouya had also lovingly decided to break through that misconception that day, Kami forbid he grew predictable, you see; so the Cloud later murmured a low “What?” through his teeth.

He wouldn’t ever admit doing so because of something else.

The Sky’s eyes were sad. Sad like how the lives of the Sakura flowers were short. Like how Hibird could’ve simply been another bird underneath the cruel control of a madman who had no love the life he raised singlehandedly. Sad in the way the clouds never stayed, how the sky simply let them drift because their happiness didn’t matter more than its element’s.

Tsuna had told him his plan, Kyouya remembered frowning at the end of it all, fisted hands tucked in the sleeves of his yukata. “I’m sorry, Kyouya.” The doe-eyed man then looked down at his tea, cup cupped dearly in his rough palms. Kyouya knew he was sincere. “You don’t have to do much, just don’t tell the others and remember to check in once in a while, yeah? I worry for you sometimes.” Tsuna had been smiling gently when he said that.

“Don’t tell me what to do, little animal.” And the Sky laughed.

Before he left, Tsuna _(never anyone else)_ gave Kyouya a quick kiss on his cheek before sliding the door open to return back to Vongola headquarters. The Cloud recalled stopping him with a hum only the tenth generation Vongola could translate. _Wait_ , was what he meant. Tsuna then tilted his head in question, “You’ll be back.” Kyouya stated, although it might as well have been a question.

The Sky smiled once more, a tired thing with his rich brown eyes still sad like falling Sakura flowers. Kyouya hated the plant because of a certain carnivore pineapple, but they were _beautiful_ , he had to admit.

“I love all of you, never doubt that.” The Sky answered in response, and slid the door shut behind him. The space of his room felt very empty all of a sudden, Hibird started to sing Namimori Middle’s anthem. Thoughts left to drift airily, Kyouya wondered when the proud Cloud started staying. When he started having people to return to.)

* * *

_The white bird flapped its wings, following [him]._

_Many more are waiting to be saved from their darkness._

* * *

Mukuro is leaning against the walls off the infirmary from the outside, eavesdropping clearly. They feel his presence through their pained Bonds; Ryohei knows it, Kyouya also knows it, and they don’t call the Mist out on it. The heterochromatic eyed man has most probably already been told about… all _this_. Today might be the only day Kyouya doesn’t pick a fight with his self-proclaimed rival.

Tsuna’s relationship with Mukuro had always been a little extreme.

They are like the overlapping voices of an eternal duet, minds connected in a delicate balance of water and oil contained in a wine glass. Ryohei is not the closest to Mukuro, but he is thankful to the Mist when he stands outside Tsuna’s bedroom on the days he has nightmares.

Every single one the Guardians and their Skies are like soulmates in a sense, Mukuro transcends that bond with whatever extreme voodoo he’s made with Tsuna.

(Tied by bullets and a trident, they were kept in a dead knot the moment Tsuna promised him the world.

Mukuro didn’t think the Mafia could’ve given him any semblance of satisfaction, it’d always been pain and hurt and **torture**. Betrayal topped it all off even above that, the moment his parents willingly subjected him for the future of the Famiglia, Mukuro had initially knew that blood will spill by his hands.

The Sky didn’t exactly take all that loath, disgust and bitterness away, but Tsuna was like a warm balm to both his soul and physical body. Not even Chrome accepted his need to be in close contact with warm skin with flourish. He didn’t blame the dear, she’d been treated like crap by her previous caretakers.

Tsuna, however, thrived in the cuddles and soft, affectionate touches Mukuro adored giving and receiving without vocalising so; and there had been no lies in their skin-ship, Mukuro would know considering how they were tied by more than their Dying Will. Living as a numbered experiment for the majority of his life _and then_ as a shrivelled specimen in a tank _did_ things to a person.

Mukuro didn’t think he could love like a normal person after all he’d been through, but this was the closest he’d get. Tsuna didn’t need to say anything on his apparent death, Mukuro was a schemer, always five steps ahead and he’d already known even before the younger male decided that this was the best way to fix their problems.

So a script had already been written out by Mukuro’s hand, he only needed to be patient before the play started. He’ll bring Tsuna back, and destroy their enemies in the process. The Mist would stretch himself to cover the world if it was to feel Tsuna’s warm back press against him once more.)

Ryohei spots Mukuro emerge from the corner of his eyes. The man walks through the door just because he can and it makes the bleached haired man sigh at how extremely dramatic everyone can be. He compensates his issues with boxing fanaticism and a non-existent indoor voice, everyone else is just- EXTREME.

* * *

  _And the [boy] reached out to all of them._

_Accompanied by the white birds that filled the Sky,_

_The [boy]’s appearance became as dark as the deepest night._

* * *

 “Kufufufu,” Mukuro laughs, weirdly as usual. Ryohei feels every hair on his arms and neck stand. “Fly away, little skylark, you’ll find that dearest Tsunayoshi did not leave us lacking. He’s left clues, you only need to find them.”

Kyouya attempts to strike at Mukuro as he leaves. The Cloud fails as the Mist’s corporal form dissipates to do… something. Ryohei stands still beside Hayato, hands gloved with flames of healing. They cannot afford to dwindle anymore.

* * *

_[His] body had been consumed by the darkness._

_And finally having used up the last of [his] strength, [he] began to turn cold._

* * *

Ryohei huffs a breath of relief over the phones when he hears the distinct ‘click’ of Chrome answering her cell. It is weirdly silent on the other side, the Sun ceases to hear anything save the occasional summer breeze and tension that appears to have solidified in sound by the harsh grit of the female Mist’s teeth.

There is a rustle of cloth on the other side of the line, a flat voice says something to faint for him to understand, but by the tone, it sounds like concern. “Hello? Chrome?” Ryohei says, a soft “Yes.” Answers him, it is all he needs.

The Sun tries to be kind; Chrome had been the one to take charge of the funeral arrangement while everybody else shut down in their own special ways. Ryohei was no exception, taking it badly as he’d shut himself in his Gym for days, living off little more than a few water bottles he had left in the mini fridge.

His sister may’ve kicked up a fuss when he started to refuse meals, but Ryohei couldn’t really couldn’t bring himself to care, having busied himself by trying to punch his broken bonds pieces; as if the force behind his fist could’ve somehow pushed them all back into place.

“This isn’t the end, it will be EXTREMELY okay.” he tells her, voice soft. Ryohei doesn’t mention Tsuna because being as close to Mukuro as she is, Chrome probably got the hint already.

(She wipes the crystal tears that traces down the soft contours of her features. It won’t do to be weak, Chrome thinks to herself. With eyes on the men beside her, Chikusa and Ken are like marble carved statues. Mukuro-sama grieves, and she understands how it’s like to feel useless, to feel like failures.

Nobody in their small circle is unfamiliar with being helpless. On one hand, Chrome has her past; the males surrounding her have their scars.

Being unbound proves to be a morbid experience. Chrome once believed that there could be nothing worse than losing everything she had on the inside, but Tsuna surprises her again and again. Chrome grimaces with a wry press of her lips, her Bossu is truly one of a kind.

As a person, Chrome feels light and giddy and empty all the same without her Bond. Her mind-space is in a constant disarray- all inverted colours and broken hospital beds. Anxiety floods her system, Chrome feels like she’s 16 all over again, Mukuro-sama by her side as he helps to regulate her mind for her.

And as a Mist, Chrome really can’t find anything better to compare herself to than a balloon with its string cut. If the blood that fills her body is crippling anxiousness, Chrome’s brain is working at hundreds of miles per hour to fuel the meticulous imagination to make it so. Whispering and murmuring everything and anything, there is suddenly no order in Chrome’s filing system that separates what’s real and what’s not.

It is no rumour of a Mist’s instability without their Sky. Their shapeless forms are constantly changing; stretching, squeezing, spreading, a Mist’s world can only take so much before it loses its balance on the thin line between reality and imagination.

Summoning her trident, Chrome presses a fist to her chest as the other holds on to the solid handle for further support. She cannot break down now, it is still too early. The funeral isn’t even over yet, and as the others are currently occupied with their own business, Chrome also has a duty to see Vongola’s guests off. She’s arranged the funeral already, a little more shouldn’t hurt.

There’s pain, deep within her chest, Chrome suddenly forgets to breathe. Mukuro-sama is whispering, he teaches her how to inhale air but Chrome childishly wishes for Tsuna to be there; it’s barely been a week and she already hates this, hates everything.

She wants her Sky, the very one who she can be weak, introverted Chrome around because he understood how it was like to suddenly have the need to just… _be_ again; with no expectations to live up to, no frantic need to fight a battle she’d rather just tag along with.

You’d think that sharing her mind comes easy, with the way she acts as if nothing’s wrong, but Chrome is only a person in the end. Not every girl can appreciate a prince charming sweeping her off her feet just like that, Chrome has her issues and it isn’t one that Mukuro-sama can simply solve with a snap of his fingers.

Even throughout all these years, Chrome has been improving, but not fast enough.

She’s happy when Mukuro-sama spoils her, and feels immensely grateful to the people around her who have helped her grow to be as strong as she is in the present, but Chrome is in great need for more time.

She's desperate for the days, the hours, and minutes to just sit down and scramble to understand everything that’s going around her so she can _think_ it through.

War is on the horizon, but that’s too little to feel safe with. Contrary to what everyone thinks, Chrome’s the one who is the most level-headed amongst her Guardians and Sky. It really puts things to perspective when Lambo aside, people often mistaken her as the weakest Guardian.

She is, physically, but her true strengths are all up in her brain. It is a gift and terror coexisting peacefully together. Chrome thinks too much all at once, she overthinks too. It is normally Tsuna or Mukuro-sama that helps her through the panic attacks that clog her lungs and thoughts, but both of them aren’t here so Ryohei’s call had come as a god-sent.

She gets the message within one line, and her brain immediately slows. Like a raging storm at sea that has calmed, Chrome turns her head at her brothers in all but blood. “It’s getting late,” she says kindly, voice intoned to soothe. “I’ll see you off.”

The Mist sends off all their guests with a soft smile on her face. When she’s done, there is no one left near her Sky’s coffin.

Chrome has done her job. Even if it had appeared insignificant, maintaining a façade of order to the world is as important as the steps of her saviour who roams the incorporeal plains behind the scenes, finding information as he and the Skylark wreak havoc upon their enemies.)

Ryohei smiles from beyond the phone line; Vongola will continue to stand strong, he EXTREMELY believes it. 

* * *

_The grieving birds start to consume [his] darkness;_

_And in the sky filled with black birds,_

* * *

Among all the Guardians, only one member fails to attend the funeral.

(He doesn’t want to see Tsuna’s hands crossed over his unmoving chest. Lambo had refused to even peep at the face of his Tsuna-nii who simply looks as though he were sleeping. Ryohei has tried to pry the boy out of his room, it hadn’t been a pretty sight.)

The Sun traces the smooth wooden door of Lambo’s room. He had left the infirmary to check up on their youngest member, the wretched sobs he hears from the outside has him curling his fists with enough force that his fingers creaked.

It’s a mystery even to himself, what was he even going to do if Lambo comes out? Everyone else is currently occupied, he and Lambo are the only ones left without a proper goal in mind save for being sad and sadder.

It was weird, being emotionally drained. The sky could’ve dropped and Ryohei wondered if he would’ve cared. Maybe… Lambo himself was a goal? A superglue to keep what fragment was left of the Sun’s protective light.

Ever since Tsuna’s crowning, the young boy had slowly been growing alongside their Family. With positive encouragement and a gentle guiding hand, Lambo started attending school with children his age and worked to hold in his tears more. He wanted to be a good little brother for his Tsuna-nii, he wanted to make his Family proud.

Lambo didn’t want to be thrown away again.

The knowledge makes Ryohei cringe, taking the muffled and breaking hiccups coming from inside like nails on a chalkboard. Lambo hasn’t cried at all since his second year of middle school, but upon the news, The Lightning had shattered.

The teen barely eats and drinks, he doesn’t shower or move from his bed save for the occasional twitch when he weeps into his pillow. Ryohei knows this from Chrome’s subtle sneak into Lambo’s room even during her busied schedule. She has told everyone about it, frustration heavy in her voice, but where had they been?

Extremely gone, that’s where they were. Guilt doesn’t even scratch the surface of what Ryohei feels right now and this is why he just knew he was _failing_.

 **Fallen**.

They hadn’t soothed him the way the young teen deserved. Ryohei’s urge to punch himself until he fucking died shot sky high. They’d all been too occupied with their own issues or Mafia formalities to give him the time in a day to teach Lambo how to deal with grief. How could they have been so self-centred? Saying _yes_ to Chrome thinking that someone else would do it.

Lambo had been _neglected_ by his fellow Guardian’s hands and Ryohei came to the realization that given his place in Lambo’s shoes, he didn’t even deserve his title as the Sun anymore.

“I’m sorry, Lambo.” Ryohei hears himself say, voice clogged and heart like lead because Lambo’s state was literal proof of his failure. He slides downwards on the floor, back against the door. “m’ sorry.” The Sun Guardian repeats, palms covering his face and muffling his voice.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes, like a broken recorder.

Ahh-

When did being the Sun feel so painful and difficult? When had the duty of healing become a lightless prison?

(Lambo hears the string of apologies from outside his door, it doesn’t make him feel better at all. He paws the blankets like a new-born kitten and buries his face into the soft covers that are wet with spots of tears. A small part of him doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to have anything to do with the people who have betrayed him.

Who threw him away like nothing. Again.

He misses his Tsuna-nii, but the memory of lullabied hugs and tender lap pillows kills him a little more inside with each patch of goose-bumps that ripples across his skin at the remembrance.

The grief is painful, and it is arguably the worst thing Lambo has ever experienced. He tries to recall the surplus of lessons the other Guardians and Tsuna have taught him over the years, none of them cover dealing with a dead Sky. His dead Sky.

Flame discord isn’t shocking, considering the blood soaked history of the Mafia, but Lambo is sure that this is something else. It’s his humanity in its rawest form, all tears and heartbreak as a loved one leaves the plain of the living, never to be seen again.

Today is a day full of tears, Lambo pensively thinks to himself. In a moment of sober clarity, the Lightning Guardian bitterly eyes the light that comes from the bottom of the door. There’s a shadow, he knows who it belongs to. He’s heard the voice, the sobs, one so unfamiliar to his ears.

Ryohei-nii has never cried. He was the Sun, and suns didn’t cry, they burned. Brightly.

In all honesty, Lambo doesn’t even know if he could truly forgive them after all _this_.

Yet, a citrus orange Flames sits upon his crown and it may be a pitiful attempt in hardening a bond that is slowly withering away but—

But it reminds Lambo of Tsuna, who would’ve been so very sad if he didn’t at least try to rekindle burnt out friendship and more so because he and the Guardians are family. Lambo rubbed his face into the covers till it hurt. He was older now, smarter, more mature and willing to make the invisible connections and understand why the others acted as they did.

He’ll be the bigger person. Even if the thought of just seeing another one of his nii-san and nii-chan made him feeling like curling up again, a garden of Chrysanthemums choking up his lungs as they grew higher and higher to clog his throat. Lambo was a big boy now.

He didn’t have to be happy because if it, nor should he just turn over to reveal his neck like that, but Lambo could at least try to make things better. He’ll pull his weight, if only to make Tsuna proud.

Lambo rolls across his bed to land on his feet, wobbling. The Lightning takes the pair of horns on his bedside and brings them close to his chest. It uses more energy than he last remembers, but Lambo manages to shower and change into a fresh pair of clothes and pants.

Hand so close to the doorknob, his fingers practically scrape against it. Ryohei-nii is still outside, crying. The gruff hiccups are foreign in every way.)

Head knocking against the wood, Ryohei thinks that his display of emotions is very unextreme, considering the circumstance. It kind of feels like he’s cheating, luring out their youngest this way. It hadn’t been intentional, but Ryohei feels like a soda bottle on the verge of popping. Lambo doesn’t deserve this, the protector’s job is to protect and the Sun is doing a terrible job thus far.

He doesn’t even understand why he suddenly broke down sobbing in front of Lambo’s room in the first place. Everything loses its importance, however, when the door opens with a relatively muted creak. Ryohei immediately notices the darkness that consumes the room and for a split second, he imagines the shadows reaching out to grab at his light.

He sees the shelves full of books, the queen sized bed, and the dirty clothes on the floor, but it fails to register. His eyes trace upwards where Lambo stands in his usual lazy slouch. The teen looks terrible.

Correction, they both look very unextreme, Ryohei’s monkey brain helpfully adds.

“I- I…” Ryohei robotically stutters out, words lost on his tongue.

 _I’m sorry_. _Please forgive us_ , he wants to say. The words clawing and scratching. Ryohei’s swollen eyes feel itchy.

With dull green eyes flickering between hesitance and general sadness, Lambo reaches his hand out to Ryohei. “Get up. This isn’t the time to break down, the Vongola needs us right now.” The teen manages with a heavy tongue, “Tsuna-nii wouldn’t want to see you like this either. You’re the Sun, aren’t you?”

 _He feels just like Tsuna_ , Ryohei thinks. Maybe it’s why he feels the failure twice as heavy when he stood before Lambo- because it’s always the young ones that are the most impressionable and right now, Lambo has become the closest impression of Tsuna he’ll ever get for a long while.

It doesn’t take long when Ryohei takes Lambo’s hand, the latter pulling the former up with a short huff. The reminder of their Sky was all he needed, Ryohei immediately jumps forward with renewed vigour. “YES! LET’S--” he yells enthusiastically, tiredness mostly kept away for now. “OUR FAMILY NEEDS US TO THE EXTREME! WE WILL FULFILL EXTREME LITTLE BRO’S MISSION BEFORE WE WELCOME HIM BACK HOME!”

(Shock crosses over Lambo’s face, “Welcome who- _where_?!”)

* * *

  _You, who sparkles a bright gold, are **Soleil**._

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and Kudos is you liked it!


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